


sleepless

by jngsjngs



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, F/M, Family, Friendship, I am so sorry, M/M, Romance, and if yes, as usual i have no idea what tags to put, but this is engame dimileth, did anyone play mystic messenger, dimileth, dimitri and byleth, if not don't worry, if so do the words reset theory mean anything to u, they will, will add as they become relevant - Freeform, yup i cried
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2020-10-11 15:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jngsjngs/pseuds/jngsjngs
Summary: Dimitri is haunted by corpses, pieces of the past. Byleth is plagued by the people she promised to protect and the precariousness of the present. As soon as the blade makes contact with his skin, she hears Dimitri scream, and that is the last thing Byleth remembers before she feels her body tremble with a Divine Pulse.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

—

_prologue_

—

* * *

Dimitri is haunted by corpses, pieces of the past. Byleth is plagued by the people she promised to protect and the precariousness of the present. He speaks in sepulchral tones, but despite the shivers spiraling down her spine with every word, albeit far and few in between, she refuses to cower.

It would have made her a hypocrite if she didn’t believe in second chances. Hers stack atop each other with seconds stolen from friends, enemies, and strangers alike in lieu of her mistakes. The burden she carries feels heavier as a result, and she doubts she will ever grow accustomed to the weight.

When Rhea asked her to teach at the academy all those years ago, Byleth made her decision on a whim. The Black Eagles felt too distant, too detached. An ex-mercenary such as herself had no place among the peerage, at least, not those so aware of their status. Byleth couldn’t teach them anything they didn’t already know, and the more important aspects of being a professor, in fact, involved a bit of instruction.

The Golden Deer looked kind, if not a bit rowdy, and such friendly faces welcomed her enough that she almost felt like she belonged. Most of them, however, needed to excel in politics, not combat, and the few with no interest in foreign affairs seemed to specialize in weapons she had yet to master. Byleth hardly considered diplomacy one of her strong suits. Bows and arrows? Never even in the cards.

And then came the Blue Lions.

Byleth initially chose them because of their house leader. His sincerity and enthusiasm enamored her mere seconds into their first meeting, but she couldn’t understand what about her seemed to captivate him in the same way. Her emotions seldom surfaced, and though she never concerned herself with that part of her personality, Byleth always knew she was different.

Despite that, Dimitri and the rest of the lions never gave her a reason to regret her choice. Dedue spoke only a handful of words at a time, but that in itself provided her with a sort of comfort during their many gardening expeditions. Annette constantly crashed into bushes and barrels singing songs about swamp beasties, among stranger things, making Byleth giggle for the first time and many times thereafter.

Listening to Ashe gush about his favorite tales about knighthood and even some of his own adventures with thieves and an overly curious cat unearthed maternal instincts Byleth didn’t know she possessed. Growing up without a mother figure herself, she found some semblance of one in the ever altruistic Mercedes and her endless supply of baked treats and carefully curated words of advice.

Sylvain, the real Sylvain, sarcastic and smart and silly and serious, made the most mundane tasks all the more amusing, not that she’d ever admit it aloud. No other individual shared her loyalty or appreciation for food as much as ever determined Ingrid. Felix, as prickly as he and others claimed him to be, fueled her ambitions in his search for his own, and Byleth looked forward to few things as much as their routine spars.

Tea with Dimitri was one of those things. Fighting bandits back to back was another. Locating a pair of black leather gloves by the stables, a training logbook left behind in the classroom, a dulled longsword—a _ sword_—hiding between a rack of fishing rods and knowing it belonged to him. Best of all, catching the embarrassment and confusion that crept into his expression whenever she returned one of his aforementioned lost items.

Dimitri once called her the heart of the Blue Lions. Byleth appreciated the sentiment, but if she was the heart, then Dimitri was the spirit, the soul. Dimitri, with his honest words and teasing smile, brought light into her eyes and a reason to smile back. And Dimitri, with his sneering insults and feral smirk, takes her breath away in the worst way, steals it just as she stole his pasts and stalls their present.

Byleth sees him suffocate on scathing slurs and promises of his own, not to protect, but to avenge those he couldn’t. He was her second friend, after Sothis, and the only other person for whom she ever shed tears, after her father. The three most precious people in her life and all she could do was watch them slip through her fingers. In the aftermath, Byleth loathes herself for that most of all.

Maybe if she saw things through to the end, if she kept moving forward, Byleth would have known things turned out alright in spite of all the heartbreak. Maybe she would have known that as promised, Edelgard dies by Dimitri’s hand, but not out of revenge. Dimitri atones for his sins. Dimitri ascends the throne. Dimitri is not entirely forgiven, but Dimitri forgives, and that is enough.

Or it was, once_. _

The only reality she knows at that moment is one in which Dimitri is still broken, and the one person she hoped could help her piece him back together had taken a blade for him. A reality in which Felix loses not only his brother and best friend, but his father as well. A reality in which Sylvain and Ingrid are not nearly enough to fill the void, and like them, Mercedes loses a brother and a best friend all the same.

Ashe finds out Marianne took her own life shortly after the war started. Annette and her father remain estranged. Lysithea, one of the only two students Byleth recruited back in the academy days, only has a fistful of years left to live due to her ongoing condition. Forced to kill Ferdinand and Bernadetta and Linhardt and Petra and Caspar during deadly and decisive battles, Dorothea loses her voice.

It becomes a reality in which Sothis disappears and Jeralt dies and Dimitri stands in front of her with clenched fists still so far out of reach. Everything is wrong, wrong, wrong, and the fault falls on her shoulders as they sink into the shadows. Byleth couldn’t save everyone, and in a moment of desperation exacerbated by overwhelming guilt, she convinces herself that she failed to save anyone.

Edelgard epitomized bravery, strong and stalwart, yet simmered with a subdued softness she saved for a select few. Claude came across clever and cunning, a lethal combination in conjunction with his ceaseless charm, but he proved himself kind to his comrades when it counted. The two grew into their hardened hearts even after the Empire declared war on the church and their allies and them.

The Dimitri she once knew had all but thrown his away.

True to his title, Rodrigue shields the future King of Faerghus from a fatal blow. As soon as the blade makes contact with his skin, she hears Dimitri scream, and that is the last thing Byleth remembers before she feels her body quiver with a Divine Pulse. It takes her back a day, and then two days, three weeks. Four months. Five years.

“Foolish mortal,” she hears a voice murmur solemnly, affectionately. “How deeply are you sleeping? Or are you still awake, despite it all…”

Byleth doesn’t hear the rest of it, or at least doesn’t get the chance. The world around her shrivels up until all that is left is her and…

…

…

…

“Hey, time to wake up.”

* * *

**postscript**

:-)


	2. home is far away

Months after his death, Byleth only ever sees Jeralt again when he appears in her dreams.

His name remains relevant due in no small part to people in the present relaying it like a prayer, but she notices distinct details fading from her memory as time stows away more and more of their days. Little albeit important things: the lilt in his voice when a joke slips past his subdued sarcasm, the warmth simmering beneath seldom, saccharine smiles. Despite possessing the will of the progenitor God, it takes every bit of her strength not to take them back.

Her attempt at evocation ends abruptly with muffled murmurs and shadowy shapes not unlike the ghouls Dimitri houses in his heart. Jeralt has and always will have a space in hers, but bouts of undisturbed mourning rarely come to pass in the midst of war. Byleth simply wakes up one morning without a father, and the realization that it is possible in spite of the pain wills her enough to wake up again the next day. Life is merciless. Death is peaceful in comparison. Or so she likes to believe.

Because of that, she finds it difficult to accept that the man standing before her is no mere mirage.

“Were you having that dream again?”

Byleth blinks the blurriness out of her eyes, but the phantasm of her father persists in front of her, less like a dream and more like delusion. The shift in the lines on his face stirs her stomach until she feels her intestines coil and constrict languished lungs, replacing branches of bronchi with an albatross around her neck. In the limbo between believing and disbelieving, she recalls the first time she hears those words, and tries to replicate her response.

“You’re here.”

It isn’t until Jeralt draws his brows together does Byleth realize her mistake. Her options at the time, the First Time, included dreams depicting death and her conversations with Sothis, and though she supposes straying from script is inevitable, the nightmares occurred long before any of this began. His question is routine at this point, and she just broke it in half.

“I dreamt about a girl,” Byleth recites dutifully, but her dead father looks at her with such concern in his eyes, and she, too, breaks.

Jeralt notices the cracks. “You alright?”

“You’re here, Papa,” she croaks. “You’re here.”

The last time Byleth called him that, she watched his casket descend into its grave. Her voice came out as a whisper at the time, but had she screamed until her throat turned raw, he still wouldn’t have heard it. Things are different now. Jeralt halts at the moniker he hadn’t heard his daughter utter in, as far as he knows, over a decade.

“What’s wrong?” Jeralt asks, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Talk to me, kid. I haven’t heard you call me that in years.”

“You won’t believe me,” Byleth mutters, and she immediately regrets it, because he is the one person from this time or any time whose trust in her will never waver. “I wouldn’t believe me.”

As if affirming her thoughts, Jeralt smiles and shifts the position of his hand to the crown of her head.

“Try me.”

Byleth opens her mouth to oblige, but a memory shoves its way to the forefront of her mind. The first time she had this conversation, she told Jeralt about her dreams, and though he was sympathetic, he reminded her that the battlefield was no place for idle thoughts.

_ Time to get moving, _ he’d added. _ Our next job is in the Kingdom. _

Her fingers reach for the hilt of her sword and feel the weight of iron instead of umbral steel, foreign and familiar at the same time. It is not her sword, the Sword of Sothis, their creator, but it is the sword her father gave her on the eve before her first mercenary mission, before the war, before everything. Byleth finds it fitting, if not a bit comforting, that they are reunited for her first mission in this time.

“Not yet,” she says.

For now, Byleth holds her head high, unfaltering in the only way she, the Ashen Demon, daughter of the Blade Breaker, and the Heart of the Blue Lions, knows how.

* * *

Dima is not blue.

The fire in his heart and the blood on his hands remind her of impassioned reds, and the sunlight drifting across the courtyard illuminates his golden hair in a way that warms her insides as if she caught herself staring at the sun itself. His skin glows ivory until it turns sickly pale, whiter than his knuckles as his hands grasp Areadbhar with all of his strength, and the sight of it stains her memories not unlike the byzantium bruises brought upon enemies by the brute force of his fists.

His eyes once reminded her of the Glaucopsyche lygdamus, a small butterfly known as the silvery blue. It takes secrets and suspicion and a small dagger stropped by deception for the silver to diminish into a dull gray, and as his spirits slip deeper into the depths of his desolation, Byleth recalls a glimpse of green: the reflection of her eyes in his own as she searches for what remains of the blue.

Byleth finds it in Dimitri.

Dimitri, not Dima, is golden and ivory and blue. His smile strains under the severity of the current circumstances, but the crown prince of Faerghus stands in front of her with such sincerity in his expression that it triggers a series of snapshots from the time before this one, time together and time apart, a deluge of memories flooding her mind.

“Please forgive our intrusion,” Dimitri says, folding an arm across his chest. “We wouldn’t bother you were the situation not dire.”

Dima never asked for help, no matter how dire the situation. It takes a moment for her to discern the difference between the man she so badly wanted to save and the boy she needs to save right now, and the disarray of her thoughts, feelings, sense of herself, and her surroundings allows seconds to pass unbeknownst to them.

“Come on,” Jeralt says, nudging her shoulder. “I still want to have that conversation with you, but unfortunately, it looks like your hunch was right. For now, we’ve got to focus on protecting them and the village.”

It’s not a hunch, Byleth nearly protests, but she remembers the others in present company and bites her tongue hard enough to draw a bit of blood. Dimitri looks grateful, Claude seems relieved, and Edelgard appears wearisome, the latter an expression Byleth once brushed off as concern for her comrades and the fight to come.

The sword at her hip feels heavier once Byleth realizes it can all end right here. No one, not even Jeralt, would think to stop her as she raised her blade. Not until the future Emperor of the Adestrian Empire dropped to the floor like the millions of bodies the Imperial Army had so willingly discarded on the way to the throne.

For a fleeting moment, Byleth forgets all thoughts of the blue and latches onto the red adorning the Emperor’s cloak. Just one second to reset six years of turmoil. It takes a deep breath and a single glance at an unsuspecting blond to quell the urge to detach Edelgard’s head from her body right then and there.

“You say you’re a mercenary,” Edelgard says. “Show me what you can do.”

Her mind is silent due in no small part to Sothis’ absence, but Byleth feels no different from her twenty-six-year-old self and for some reason or another suspects that the skills she honed from the future remain embedded in her muscles, in her head, in her spirit. As the bandit camp comes into view, she still feels angry, and so she releases much of that anger in a way that would make Felix proud.

Dimitri, Claude, and Edelgard chase after weightless footsteps and the soft rustle of clothes only to find Byleth with six unconscious bandits at her feet. Jeralt, taking up the rear, arrives at the scene shortly after them with raised brows and the shadow of a frown.

“Don’t get reckless,” her father warns.

With enough steam out of her system, Byleth has the decency to look chastened. Claude snickers at her expression, but a sharp intake of breath drowns out the sound and beckons her gaze to the left. Dimitri stares at her with stars in his eyes.

“Lead the charge,” she tells him after a breath, swallowing her own gasp as it attempts to spring out of her throat. “I’ll be the wind at your back and the sword at your side.”

He gapes at her in a way that makes her wish she had the courage to speak those words to him in the past—their future, now—if only to see his eyes light up once more. Claude smirks, this time at the prince’s flustered disposition, but she has learned much about feelings, and certainly enough about her own, to understand that she does not mean it like that. Not yet, at least. Dimitri is not Dima.

_ Not yet. _

_ Not yet. _

_ Not yet, _ she repeats.

“Is there a particular reason why you asked Dimitri to stand on the frontlines?” Edelgard asks.

“Lances hit harder than swords,” Byleth stiffly replies. “And the reach advantage will create openings for you,” she pauses, turning to Claude. “Or you to deliver subsequent blows need be.”

Claude grins, and like before, it fails to reach his eyes. “‘Need be,’ huh? You sure have a lot of faith in His Highness here.”

“Save your teasing for another time, Claude,” Dimitri says, shaking his head in hopes that his blush did not look as prominent as it felt. “I’m certain an experienced mercenary has more insight into battles than even ourselves.”

Jeralt raises a brow at Byleth, but she stares back at him more than a little defiantly, and he relents with a sigh. “I’ll keep the rear in case any strays try to pull a fast one.”

The fight will end in minutes, of course, but it is the first time since the First Time in which she is entirely unsure, because it is the first battle of thousands, and the first day of half a decade. Goddess only knows how things will turn out different or the same, and yet even she must not be aware of whether such changes will be for the greater good.

“This won’t take long,” Byleth says.

When the bandit leader swings his axe at the Imperial Princess, Byleth selects to stand still. Edelgard spins around in surprise, but she blocks the blow, and Byleth almost feels guilty about her disappointment until she recognizes the dagger Edelgard raised in defense. In her fury, Byleth rewinds the last few seconds.

The bandit leader swings his axe at the Imperial Princess. Byleth strides across the spaces separating them, intercepting and incapacitating him with a single sweep of her sword. Edelgard lets out a convincing gasp at the sudden intrusion as Kostas hisses in pain and promptly scurries away, cradling his cut hand to his chest.

Edelgard breathes out a _ thank you _ and Byleth begrudgingly nods, biting the inside of her cheek. As much as she feels a bit like a petulant child admitting it, Byleth decides to defend Edelgard not out of obligation, but because she believes that Edelgard no longer deserved to use the dagger Dimitri gifted her all those years ago.

“You didn’t even blink,” Claude says, stashing away additional arrows into the quiver strapped behind his back. “Impressive, for the most part, but a little scary, too.”

This, Byleth realizes, is not a conversation that happened the First Time.

“You should keep your eyes on your targets,” she says, sheathing her sword.

Claude purposely glances at her from his peripheral. “Who said I wasn’t?”

“You’re awfully blasé for someone who just warded off an assassination attempt,” Byleth says. “No injuries, I presume?”

“None, thanks to you,” Edelgard says, a slight smile seeping past her princess persona.

Byleth switches her gaze to the ground, and Claude snorts, attributing the reaction to some symptom of shyness. In truth, Byleth knows she can hardly control her expressions right now, and the one on display at the moment clearly came across as contempt.

“We appreciate your assistance,” Dimitri says, approaching the three of them with her father trailing closely behind him.

Byleth nods again, suddenly sheepish. “It was nothing.”

“It sure looked like nothing,” Jeralt says, raising a brow. “Snuck in some extra practice?”

Edelgard and Claude muster polite smiles as Dimitri hides his chuckles with a cough. Byleth fails to grasp what’s funny. Jeralt rarely caps his emotions, and the crinkles on his forehead look like telltale signs of stress and suspicion. True to his word, however, she sees not a sliver of scepticism, and that stops her from falling apart.

“Yeah,” Byleth murmurs. “Or something like that.”

* * *

In the minutes between Alois’ arrival and their collective departure, Byleth tells Jeralt the truth.

The months she spent teaching the Blue Lions, Jeritza, Tomas, Monica, Edelgard and the impending war, the rise of the Empire, the fall of Faerghus, Dimitri’s descent, Rodrigue’s death, all that she remembers, or perhaps can never forget.

Jeralt stays silent for a few seconds too long. His stare pierces straight through the cracks in her chest, but half a decade has passed since she last saw her father, and Byleth misses sharing some of the more mundane moments with him.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Jeralt asks at last.

Byleth ducks her head. “I’m not.”

“Byleth,” she cringes at her name, but Jeralt pays no mind. “I get the feeling that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me before, but I’m here now, and I believe you.”

Her fingers curl into clenched fists. Five years ago, revenge made coming to terms with his death a little more bearable, but in this time, her father’s killer remains alive and free. Byleth feels her skin itch at the notion alone.

“It’s not that you weren’t there,” she mutters. “It’s that I _ was _ and still failed to do anything about it.”

Jeralt pauses, then sighs, and she knows he understood. “Guess I kicked the bucket earlier than I would’ve liked.”

“‘s not your fault.”

“I bet it wasn’t yours either.”

“You say that, but I couldn’t save you.”

“That’s a burden no child should ever have to carry,” Jeralt says, gently placing a hand on her head. “You’d think time travel should suffice.”

“More like a one-way trip.”

“Was that a joke?”

“No.”

Jeralt grins, ruffling her hair. “It was a joke, wasn’t it?”

“This is not a joking matter,” she says, though the corners of her mouth lift the slightest bit. “What should I do now that you know?”

“Nothing’s changed.”

“Really?”

“Not for us Eisners,” Jeralt says. “I’m still your dad and you’re still my kid. We keep moving forward like we’ve always done.”

Byleth finally looks up at him, all kinds of hopeful. “Is that enough?”

“Always has been.”

“Rhea will ask me to teach.”

“So you’ve told me,” Jeralt sighs, arms crossed. “Would you believe it if I said that’s the strangest thing I’ve heard by far?”

“You never did trust her,” Byleth nods. “Is it bad that I want to stick with the same house?”

Jeralt shrugs again. “Why not? I don’t know the brats as well as you do, but from the way you speak so fondly of them, I’d say they’re a good bunch.”

“I’ll have to do some things differently, regardless,” Byleth murmurs, mind twisting with plans and possibilities. “I can’t afford to be careless.”

“If you ask me, I think you care too much.”

“I don’t even have a heart.”

“You don’t feel through your heart,” Jeralt says, poking her forehead. “The temporal lobe’s got that covered.”

Byleth manages a small smile, or at least the closest to one she’s shown since she arrived in this time. “If Sothis was here, she’d say something like, ‘He’s smarter than he lets on, isn’t he?’”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to you referring to the Goddess like an old friend,” Jeralt chuckles. “Can’t take all the credit, though. I learned that from your mom.”

If Byleth had a beating heart, she thinks it would have leapt out of her chest. Her regrets about leaving behind everyone she ever loved will haunt her until the end of her days, even if she did so with the intent to save them, but she regrets leaving her mother most of all.

Should she tell her father the truth about that as well? That the grave he visits lays without a body, and her mother remains in pristine condition beneath the monastery grounds? The thought in itself forces memories from a certain mission to the forefront of her mind until they spill from her mouth.

“I’ve seen her,” Byleth blurts out. “Beneath the monastery. I had a mission. I’ve never met her, and I don’t know much about her, but I miss her so much.”

Jeralt looks more shocked than she had ever seen him, and Byleth knows she’s made another mistake. To think that she could be so selfish when he’s lost the love of his life once already. Blinking away stray tears, she whispers an apology just as a Divine Pulse surges through her veins.

“I learned that from your mom.”

“Tell me about her,” Byleth says, softly. “Please?”

Jeralt looks surprised, and her breath catches in her throat. Did she say something wrong again?

“To think,” Jeralt says after a second, and Byleth holds her breath, anticipating the worst. “I’ve been so selfish all this time.”

Byleth exhales.

“You’ve seen so much of the future and still know so little about the past,” Jeralt continues. “It’s entirely my fault. I forget that though you didn’t know her, you lost your mother all the same.”

“You had your reasons,” Byleth says, but they both notice she doesn’t deny his claims.

Jeralt smiles sadly, nodding as he says, “We’ll find time to pick up this conversation again once we get to the monastery. I could learn to be a little more honest from you, too.”

“I’m selfish,” Byleth admits. “I don’t think I could have done this on my own. Even back in the First Time, I had Sothis.”

“She’s the Goddess, isn’t she? Just because you don’t hear her anymore doesn’t mean she’s not there.”

“I didn’t think you were such a devout believer.”

“I’m not,” Jeralt says, wryly. “But you’re connected to the Goddess somehow, and I believe in you. That’s something, isn’t it?”

His words ignited a fire in her that she thought had all but faded. Byleth thinks about Sothis and her parents and all the people she left behind. Each of them placed their faith in her, trusted her with their lives and their future. The least she could do after failing them once was prove that their belief had not been misplaced.

* * *

The path to Garreg Mach Monastery feels familiar. Byleth expected as much since their monthly missions outside church grounds often required a bit of travel, but she startles when she recognizes every tilted tree and poisonous plant along the way. Dedue and Ashe taught her all about them once, she recalls.

_ Would the Dedue and Ashe from this time do the same? _

Dimitri clears his throat, and she tucks her thoughts away, looking up without hesitation. It feels odd standing even just a couple of feet away from him after she had long since staked a claim to the spot by his side, but she allows Claude the privilege for now, mostly because she has no other choice.

“Will this be your first time at the monastery?” Dimitri asks. “I’d be happy to show you around.”

Byleth shakes her head, lips pursed. “I’ve been there before.”

“What business did a teenage mercenary have at the church?” Claude asks jokingly, except it’s not a joke at all. His eyes remain carefully fixated on her face, searching, studying. “I mean, aside from the fact that your dad used to lead the Knights of Seiros.”

“I’m twenty-one,” Byleth says.

Claude grins, but she knows enough about him to recognize that it looks strained with the shift in subject. “You look great for your age.”

“You act like she’s so much older than us,” Edelgard says, and if it was considered proper for a princess, she might have rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I would hope that the future leader of the Alliance matures a bit this semester.”

“I’m plenty mature,” Claude sniffs, crossing his arms.

Dimitri chuckles, and Byleth swears something in her chest stutters. “I’m surprised we haven’t seen you around.”

“What makes you think you haven’t?” Byleth asks. “It’s a big monastery.”

“I’d remember you if I had.”

He sounds so sincere and the blue in his eyes beam brighter than the sun shining down from above them. Byleth inhales sharply and quickly averts her gaze at the thought. Dimitri is not Dima, but she had grown fond of him, too.

“That’s reassuring,” she says.

Dimitri smiles again, but his brows draw closer in contemplation. “I don’t suppose you’ve stopped by recently?”

“No,” Byleth says, truthful and lying all at once. “I was young at the time.”

“As opposed to now, when you’re not,” Claude snorts, stretching his arms above his head. “I’d like to hear more about your time there, but from what you’ve told us already, I’m assuming you don’t remember much.”

“Please, Claude, mind your manners,” Edelgard chides.

Claude shrugs. “Just sharing some observations.”

“I’m more interested in making the most of my time there now,” Byleth says earnestly. “No use dwelling on ghosts from the past if they hinder us from moving forward.”

Dimitri falters for only a split-second, but Byleth catches the shadow that looms over his face. It occurs to her swiftly, suddenly, that her words carry a weight on his shoulders, different from her own albeit heavy all the same. Her mouth opens to apologize before she realizes that Dimitri doesn’t know that _ she _ knows.

_ Not yet. _

“There it is,” Edelgard says.

Byleth follows her line of sight. “It’s smaller than I remember it.”

“You call that small?” Claude asks, raising a brow. “Well, I guess a mercenary who’s traveled all over the country would find any sort of stationary monument tiny in comparison.”

That’s not it, Byleth thinks, recalling her days exploring every nook and crevice of the monastery. Finding items her students dropped, sharing meals with them in the dining hall, introducing herself to unfamiliar patrons and staff, cultivating crops in the garden, participating in tournaments at the training grounds, casting lines in hopes of catching rainbow fish…

The size of the building didn’t matter, nor did the notoriety of the church itself. Garreg Mach Monastery appears smaller than she remembers it because memories spanning months and years and then some filled her to the brim, turning an otherwise intimidating edifice into a place she simply called home.

“I’ve done my share of traveling,” Byleth says. “If things go well, this might very well be my last trip.”

* * *

In a moment fueled by insecurity, Byleth asks Jeralt to teach in her place. The Knights of Seiros had long since survived without their captain, and his expertise could have very well helped her students improve more than her instructions ever did. He is, however, her father first and foremost, and despite their somewhat unconventional relationship, his paternal instincts surpass even his level of intuition on the battlefield.

“Don’t go backing out now, kid,” Jeralt says. “The sheer will to protect those brats got you this far. I can’t think of anyone else better suited to teach them.”

Byleth seeks comfort in his words and finds enough of it to enter the audience chamber with a newfound resolve. Rhea and Seteth await her at the center of the room, steely stares and pursed lips prepared for a conversation Byleth nearly has memorized. Behind her, Jeralt sighs, and she tries not to parrot him as they halt before the archbishop, brutally beautiful as she remembers.

“I wonder,” Rhea muses. “Was it the will of the Goddess that we have another chance meeting like this?”

Her options dwindle the closer they get to the fated question. For a moment, Byleth considers picking the Black Eagles with _ keep your friends close and your enemies closer _ in mind, but the thought of betraying her Lions crawls down her throat and sits stubbornly in her stomach as if she had ingested one of Claude’s handmade poisons. That didn’t mean she couldn’t work towards a goal of that sort.

The easiest way to curb support for the Empire required an impossible task. Recruiting the core members of the Black Eagles house will be difficult, to say the least, but Byleth thinks back to past encounters with her former students, images of their bleeding and battered bodies imprinted in her head, and she decides it is worth the effort. Dorothea first, then Linhardt and Caspar, and Bernadetta and Ferdinand and Petra.

“Professor Manuela and Professor Hannneman have agreed to allow you the first pick,” Rhea says. “Please speak with the three house leaders prior to your decision.”

“I’ve already decided,” Byleth protests a little too quickly.

Rhea looks less surprised, more intrigued, and her expression unsettles Byleth even more. “Oh? Which of our three house leaders have made such an impression on you?”

“Dimitri,” Byleth says, squaring her shoulders. “I’d still like to meet the other students of the Blue Lions beforehand, though.”

Seteth frowns, and Byleth adds, “If that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Rhea nods, smiling slightly. “We’ll hold the student orientations later in the day. In the meantime, I’ve asked Seteth to show you to the classrooms and your personal chambers during your stay here.”

Jeralt glances at Byleth from the corner of his eye, then turns to Rhea with more than a little reluctance. “Since that’s all settled, I have a request.”

“You’re welcome to share it,” Rhea says.

“I’d like to teach, too.”

Byleth feels her neck crack as she looks up at her father. If Rhea had shown interest in her decision just seconds before, the archbishop now appears positively delighted. “I’m more than happy to oblige, Jeralt, but I must ask. What brings about the change of heart?”

“It’s not like I plan to adopt a whole house, nor am I entirely opposed to helping out the Knights of Seiros on the side,” Jeralt shrugs, slinging an arm around his daugher. “But, to be honest, a bunch of teenagers scare me more than rogues and ruffians. I can’t throw my own kid to wolves like that without doing my part.”

His choice of words trigger something in Byleth. Memories of her mission with the Ashen Wolves unveiled a slew of secrets that agitated her suspicions towards the church rooted as far back as their assignment to silence Lord Lonato of House Gaspard. Dimitri’s descent made it difficult to discern the truth from the half-truths and flat out lies, but in this timeline, she knows enough.

“I’d find it difficult to believe that you haven’t already appointed a combat instructor,” Byleth says, recalling a ghoulish knight drenched in darkness as she makes a point not to look at Seteth. “My father can teach tactics instead, though he might need a little help.”

“What do you have in mind?” Rhea asks.

“I’ve heard tales of the Abyss.”

Seteth gasps and looks just about ready to lock Byleth away there for the rest of her years, but Rhea remains unflinching as she says, “I suppose even mercenaries have their own way of finding things out.”

“It will be useful for the students to learn how to confront foes more forthcoming than chivalrous knights acting with a code of conduct,” Byleth explains. “Those in Abyss know how to fend for themselves against the most merciless of mankind.”

“Those in Abyss are also not the type of people we’d pride in teaching our students,” Seteth snaps.

Byleth quirks a brow, pointing a thumb to her father. “Do you believe any harm will come to the students with the Blade Breaker present?”

“Calm, Seteth,” Rhea says, shaking her head. “I will personally see to it that a tactics course be added to the curriculum, but it’s best that you meet the person in charge of Abyss prior to that.”

“Fine by me,” Jeralt says.

Byleth nods and suggests, “Before the orientation.”

“Your heart has made its choice, then,” Rhea says, clasping her hands together. “All I ask is that you guide these open minds with virtue, care, and sincerity.”

Seteth, still wary, rushes to get in a final word of warning, discreet but deliberate. “They are all promising young youths who bear the weight of Fódlan’s future upon their shoulders. I hope you appreciate what an honor it is to lead them.”

If she had been in the same state as when she arrived to this timeline, Byleth might have burst into tears at the truth in that sentiment, but a couple of days passed them by on their way back to the monastery, and she starts to numb all over again.

“I do,” she says. “More than you know.”

* * *

**postscript**

this thing has gone thru so many rounds of edits but i’ve played maddening long enough that i finally know what i want to do with it :’) byleth’s a bit of an edelgard anti at the moment because she’s fresh off a blue lions run that didn’t even get its happy ending but that’s subject to change as we drift from canon hehe thank u for reading! i appreciate the patience of those who’ve waited for some semblance of a plot ajsdjkdfh with the state our world's in right now i hope ur all safe n healthy!


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